


It ended, as it started, with a garden.

by Aspirina_Effervescente, Cyanidechan, orphan_account



Series: It ends as it starts [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Angst, Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Heaven & Hell, Heavy Angst, Hurt Crowley, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, References to Depression, Sad Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad and Sweet, Translation, there's a lot of crying honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:59:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspirina_Effervescente/pseuds/Aspirina_Effervescente, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyanidechan/pseuds/Cyanidechan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Crowley""No." He answered firmly because he already knew what the angel was about to say."Don't tell me we can't win. We can. We've already done it once.""We can't, not this time."The stars were already starting to fall, and every night millions of people looked up at the sky, enchanted by that beautiful show, while the news exclaimed enthusiastically: It seems that the shooting star’s season has arrived early!Crowley remained silent, looked at the sky, at the angel.After all, no one better than them knew that sooner or later, everything would have to end.





	It ended, as it started, with a garden.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It ended, as it started, with a garden. (Italian version)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824568) by [Aspirina_Effervescente](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspirina_Effervescente/pseuds/Aspirina_Effervescente), [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> Hi everyone, just a little reminder that English isn't my first languages but I really tried to translate this work of mine in the better way possible.  
> Corrections, advice and suggestions are always welcome.  
> This story is written with Cyanidechan!  
> 

_The King said,  
_ _“How many seconds of time are there in eternity?”  
_ _Then said the shepherd boy,  
_ _“There is a mountain of pure diamond at the end of the Universe,  
_ _which is two miles and a half high, two miles and a half wide, and two miles and a half in depth;  
_ _every hundred years a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on it,  
_ _and when the whole mountain is worn away by this, then the first second of eternity will be over.”_

Crowley had tried to tell this story to Aziraphale once.  
In his opinion, he had succeeded.  
To tell the whole truth, the angel had understood hardly a thing that night, both drunk in such a spectacular way that the demon struggled to remember why the story was so important.

Sitting on the bench of St. James, a demon and an angel looked at the sky with worried expressions.  
Whoever had casually listened to their discourse briefly, would have assumed that the two men were engaged in a theological discussion. Perhaps philosophical. Maybe both.  
A young vicar who tries to redeem a punk, they would have assumed or the other way round.  
Perhaps, two young (old) friends discussing such a vast subject, both with different ideas that, with time, had become similar.  
In any case, they would suddenly remember something urgent to do feeling anxious and start running home.

"The point is" the demon muttered, “The point is that they don't understand."  
"I agree for once" replied the angel with golden ringlets.  
"Everything on this earth is half good and half bad." Crowley continued after a nod. "We could leave this land, Heaven and Hell could let go of the reins, the old bandwagon would continue to go on."

"So, we aren't important in your opinion?"

"That's not the point ... the point is" the demon tried to answer. "We have nothing to teach these humans. Think about what they can invent. The Spanish inquisition, the mafia, the concentration camps, all things that have earned me commendations... but that's things I never did. Every time I think, _these humans are so nasty._ We should have taken Hitler and Mussolini, Tomás de Torquemada, the Marquis De Sade and Gilles de Rais and asked them to give seminars in Hell because no one down there has ever been as creative as them." Crowley continued with his stream of words, looking at the angel who had frowned at that thought.

"And yet," the angel urged, as if to defend all humanity from a bad reputation, "they manage to be so good sometimes. The saints, the peace missions, the agreements, all those people who strip off their possessions to give them to the poor…”

"You shoot right at the point, my friend!" Crowley exclaimed in the tone of someone who won a conversation.* "No reason to destroy this planet. It is so interesting, and humans are so so so clever, always inventing something new, good or bad. It doesn't matter. I just can't wait to know what they will do the next day. If they could see, if they could at least give it a try... well, they would _understand_ why it's a pity to stop everything and turn this _nice_ world into a fucking fiery ball."

 _"Crowley"  
_"No." He answered firmly because he already knew what the angel was about to say.  
"Don't tell me we can't win. We can. We've already done it once."  
"We can't, not this time."

The sky was blazing as if they were at sunset and not at three in the afternoon on a quiet April’s day. Despite it, the air was freezing, there weren’t more ducks in the pond anymore, nor people in the street.

The stars were already starting to fall, and every night millions of people looked up at the sky, enchanted by that beautiful show, while the news exclaimed enthusiastically: _It seems that the shooting star’s season has arrived early!  
_Crowley remained silent, looked at the sky, at the angel.  
After all, no one better than them knew that sooner or later, everything would have to end.

_* Truth to be told, he hadn’t won the conversation. This conversation had already taken place 25 years earlier, and other times throughout six millennia with different names, additional examples, because it was a subject that often recurred, especially after some important events._

〄

The demon Crowley was notoriously one of the positive attitudes.  
They had averted the apocalypse once, he said to himself, there was no reason to think he wouldn't succeed a second time.  
He liked to think that he, the only demon in Hell with imagination, would be able to come up with something, anything, maybe at the last moment with that heroic charm of science fiction’s movies.  
But the more he tried, the more he watched the stars fall, the red sky, the sea boiling, the only thing he could think was: _Poor dolphins. Poor whales. Gorillas must be terrified._

In those days, the demon's eyes were perpetually bright red*, his forehead sweaty and his skin drawn, pale, like a corpse or a ghost.  
He had slept for a month, he had cried for so long that his tears had turned in blood and had left him weak and tired, the only thing he could do now was to lie in his large bed looking out the window watching the sky falling down.

Other demons would call him pathetic. He would have replied that mourning** was the least he could do for the home that had hosted him for so long. For the Earth that had continued to run for six millennia cradling him with its sweet fruits and amusements.  
Aziraphale let three months pass to allow the demon to elaborate the grieving*** then one day he got tired and decided it was time to get blasted drunk. There was no reason to waste the little time they could have spent together.

He materialised in the demon's apartment, with a bottle of fine Italian’s red wine he had bought for special occasions. Striving to ignore the plants that seemed to weep with sadness and fear because, in their short and ephemeral life, they had never seen their beloved master**** so defeated, depressed, terrified.  
He found Crowley in the bedroom, where he had been for the last three months, half-naked and with an absent look, rolled up in a cocoon of pillows, looking out of the window.

"Forgive the intrusion, my dear friend."

"Angel..." He said in a monotonous tone without turning to look at him as if he recognized his friend's presence in his apartment and wasn't surprised.

"I brought you some wine."

Crowley closed his eyes for a moment, opening them again wearily.

"I don't want it.”

"My dear, talk to me, we have so little time to spend together," Aziraphale pleaded because like any divine being he didn’t like to waste time.

Crowley, unlike the angel, had always loved to idle.

 _"Please,"_ Aziraphale added.

Crowley, who rarely failed to please his friend in six millennia, didn’t argue. He rose slowly from his cocoon of pillows and blankets as if they were too heavy for his thin body to support, ran a hand through his hair, put on his dark glasses and when he got up from the bed he was already dressed in his usual black suit.

_* Notoriously Crowley had golden eyes with the pupils like two slits, snake eyes that reflected his true nature, but when he tried too hard or was too tired or too desperate as in this case, his eyes would become red._

_** Sometimes with the word_ mourning _we also identify that series of strong feelings and mental states derived from sudden events, which create suffering and generate a strong psychological impact and/or change in the life of the person who suffers them. Such as removal of loved ones, the obligatory modification of significant lifestyles, or when a being of darkness realise that he_ will not _be able to prevent the next Apocalypse._

_*** As any heavenly being would have done, according to him. It was comforting, in a way, and it was not written in his divine contract to bring consolation to every living being, be it human, divine, diabolical or other?_

_**** Some might argue that the plants in Crowley's apartment suffer at this point from a severe form of Stockholm’s Syndrome. Aziraphale would have been more than happy to help them, poor dears, but time was running out, and that was a new concept for the angel who had observed many deadlines but had never affected him._ _Deadlines were human’ things, after all, now also Angels and Demons’ things._

〄

It was Crowley who insisted on returning to the bookshop.  
He had done it for two reasons:  
As much as he loved the style of his apartment, the emptiness of his home seemed to want to crush him, and he began to be slightly overwhelmed by the suffocating feeling. Something was comforting in the small room at the back of the shop, it smelled like old books, tea and biscuits, a sweet perfume, so similar to Aziraphale’s smell that was like to be wrapped in a big hug.  
Crowley _loved_ the reassuring atmosphere of the place.

In his apartment, it was too cold and too white. Once he had found comfort in the pristine walls, so far from the dirt and soot that always pervaded Hell, so bleak, so suffocating.  
Now, all that white reminded him of Heaven, and this was even worse.  
The cold was something new. His apartment had always been well heated, _(Like a hot day in the Tropical rainforests! Had ordered Crowley and his apartment had mobilised to warm itself precisely as he had wanted.*)_

Now, instead, he felt a cold chill in his bones, as if they were covered in ice. He didn't know if it was his body's cold-blooded fault or if the entire planet had cooled off a dozen degrees.  
He only thing he knew was that in the back room of the old bookshop, with a glass of wine surrounded in blankets, he had finally stopped shaking for the first time in months. 

"Crowley?" Aziraphale had a worried expression, deep black circles around his eyes, hair a bit messy and a distressed look when he realized that it was the fourth time he was looking for his friend's attention in front of him.

"Did you understand what I just told you, Crowley?"

In truth the demon hadn’t heard a word, he was too busy wondering why that small room gave him so much peace.

"I told you my side will win."

 _Oh_ , thought Crowley, _I know that_. He remembered with pain what Heaven could do. He remembered well, how in an instant all the angels who had dared to ask questions had been exterminated, and the few survivors had fallen miserably into a bottomless pit.

_(Even before the fall, when time didn't exist yet, and neither the Earth nor Hell had been created, when everything was still white and bright and pure, he remembered having thought "But how long will this boredom last, will they ever invent something fun?"And an angel, whose name and face and voice couldn't be remembered, replied "My dear brother, there is a mountain of pure diamond at the end of the universe, which—)_

"You have to go away, Crowley." Aziraphale's pleading voice shook him from his thoughts again and returned to focus on his words.

“Heaven will win the battle." He repeated with a petulant tone. "They will kill all the demons, they told me, they contacted me. _We will not forgive interference_ , they said. This time it's serious."

Crowley realised only now that he no longer wore his sunglasses. The pupils had returned to normal.  
"Will you run away with me?" He asked, ignoring what his request implied.  
His eyes were shiny, not for wine this time.

Aziraphale looked at him for a moment, tried to ponder his answer. It was necessary to find the right words, the correct words, to explain to the demon sitting in front of him, his enemy, his adversary, his best friend, why he _could not_ abandon Heaven, God, and run away with him.  
And for a moment he had the illusion of being able to escape, he dreamt of flying away far in some constellation…and screw the war, Heaven and Hell, The Great Plan.  
Eternity didn’t seem so terrifying if only it had been possible for him to remain next to Crowley.

He was about to reply, ready to offer him his sincerest apologies, when suddenly the gramophone in the room started working, and a well-known song started to play.  
  
_There's no time for us  
_ _There's no place for us  
_ _What is this thing that builds our dreams  
_ _Yet slips away from us?_

Aziraphale jumped on the spot, looking at the gramophone first, then Crowley, who had remained silent and still, as if he was expecting this to happen.

 _There's no chance for us  
_ _It's all decided for us  
_ _This world has only one  
_ _Sweet moment set aside for CRAWLY_

Crowley sighed loudly and turned to look at the gramophone as well. Only now his brain seemed to notice Aziraphale's hand tightened around his, he held them, with a little more strength, as if to say, _It's okay, it's fine._  
"It would be Crowley."

CRAWLY WE ARE READY FOR THE BATTLE. The machine said, ignoring his protest ** the voice of Freddy, sweet and sinister at the same time.

"I noticed." He replied "Nice work with the stars, the boiling seas, the blood-coloured sky and all the other fanfare."

THANK YOU. The voice answered shortly. THE END IS NIGH. VERY CLOSE. _INTERFERE IS NOT AN OPTION._ He remembered the dear old Freddy.

"I know."

WILL YOU JOIN US FOR THE GREAT WAR CRAWLY?

Crowley remained silent and looked at Aziraphale for a moment.***  
For Crowley, that moment lasted precisely like a second of eternity. He was lost in the Aziraphale’s sky-blue eyes, who were lucid with tears that wouldn’t come down because demons and angels don’t cry often. For Aziraphale, it lasted one hundred and fifty lives, and he hoped it could last even longer.  
There was a silent plea in his eyes.  
Crowley repeated at that moment, in his mind: _there is a mountain of pure diamond at the end of the Universe, which is two miles and a half high, two miles and a half wide, and two miles and a half in depth—_

"No," he finally said.

Aziraphale gasped, his mouth half-open, his eyes revealing all the terror and anguish. That wasn’t what he wanted. Or better yes, it was. I mean, it isn’t like he wished to Crowley to participate in the war, but he never wanted those down there to find out. He squeezed both of Crowley's hands in his, noticing just now how cold they were, so freezing that, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine holding a block of ice in his hands.

Hell DOES NOT FORGIVE TRAITORS

"I would have been surprised on the contrary." He agreed.

YOU WILL BE EXECUTED

"I know, what are you waiting for?" The demon said bitterly “Tell me an hour and a place, I will be there" replied with a harsh snarl.

TOMORROW. ST. JAMES. AT THE DEVIL’S HOUR ****

And with that, the music started again. The dear old Freddy Mercury went back to singing with a poignant voice:

 _But touch my tears with your lips  
_ _Touch my world with your fingertips ..._

A moment of silence, a moment in which neither of them moved. Only the music around them.  
Then Aziraphale couldn't take it anymore.  
He fell from his chair, kneeling with his head in Crowley's cold hands.  
"NO!" He screamed, terrified.

Then he pulled his head up, sat down next to the demon, who remained motionless all the time. His distant gaze completely absent and for a moment, only an instant, Aziraphale was even more terrified at the idea that Crowley wasn’t in his body anymore.  
"You old, stupid, stupid serpent!” He screamed, shaking his shoulders. "Please, I'll do whatever you want, I'll run away with you, I swear, I swear!"  
Aziraphale didn't know how long he'd screamed at Crowley. Maybe a minute or maybe ten hours but suddenly he seemed to come to his senses, put a hand on his shoulder, looked at him with intense, red eyes.

"Angel—“ he said.

"Let's leave!" Aziraphale cried out, jumping on attention, trembling. “To the stars, on the sun if necessary, you always liked the warmest places—"

"Aziraphale!" Crowley yelled still sitting on the sofa with his chalice in his hand, now empty because the angel had tugged him so hard, making him spilt his contents all on the floor and carpet.

“It’s fine,” he said monotonously.

" _It is not fine_ , we'll think of something, I won't let you ..." he didn't dare continue.

He put a trembling hand in front of his mouth as if he wanted to stop all the tears and protests at the mere idea of his best friend dead, lost forever, and _NO NO NO NO NO NO—_

"You would never betray Heaven. You would never betray God. You would fall before you even realise it."

"I don't care, fuck everyone, it's okay for me to fall for you," Aziraphale answered full of anger. "I will not stand idly by while they kill you, stupid, old, idiot of a snake!”

"Don't come then. I won't go anywhere. I'd rather die on Earth." Crowley replied as if it was a fact.

Aziraphale looked at him with tears in his eyes.

"The stars are falling one by one, angel. When the war begins, there won’t be anymore in the sky. I know this very well, and you too. Don't be stupid and drink another glass of wine." Crowley concluded in a sad and melancholy tone, looking at the glass he held in his hands.  
Aziraphale hated him at that moment because he was right. There were no places they could run.  
_They were doomed._

So he did the only thing that could give him comfort; he took another bottle of wine and poured the contents into Crowley's glass, sitting next to him, holding his friend in a tender embrace.  
Crowley's hands were cold, and Aziraphale thought, terrified, _I don't want to lose you, I don't want to forget what it feels like to have you next to me._

_* This is because Crowley knew he couldn’t order to his apartment to warm up like on a hot day in Eden. He was a demon, not a monster, he knew he couldn't expect impossible things._

_** Hell tended to ignore that kind of protest as would do, in a middle school in the suburbs, one of those bullies who always stole your lunch’s money and made you feel like nothing even with just a glare._

_*** Time, when you are immortal, is something mysterious. Crowley and Aziraphale were able to have a more concrete concept of it because both had spent enough time among humans to understand the mechanism. Mostly wasn’t like they understand it but they bought watches at some point. Still, Time remains a complicated concept._

_**** It is well known among witches that "The Devil's Hour", also known as "The wicked Hour" in some cultures, is at 03.33am. It would be more correct to say that the time of the Devil fluctuates about between 3:00 and 3:33 because according to an ancient tradition Jesus died at 3:00 pm and 3:00 am would be the antipodes, where the demons and spirits can manifest themselves more freely. However, it is already too complicated for the demons, who rarely dwell on math calculations. (unless it is a particular practice of torture, I wouldn't even be so surprised) the time of the Devil is at 3:33 because if the three numbers are doubled, we obtained the number 666. For some reason, Satan likes that particular composition of figures._

〄

It ended, as it started, with a garden.

At night, the park of St. James was sinister, shadows stretched like hands with long fingers ready to catch you from every corner. Three demons stood in darkness in the usual fashion, lurking. Steady and still, they looked at the old clock that marked hours, minutes and seconds.

 **03:32:45** said the clock.

"I almost hope that he doesn't come," Hastur said with a grin. "It's a while since I took part in a nice demon’s hunt."  
"Silence." The lord of Hell, Beelzebub, scolded him. "He'll come."

**03:32:50**

“He will come up with something. No doubt," added Hastur.  
"Silence, I said" Beelzebub repeated gravely. "I said he will come."

**3:33:00**

"He will not. He's a traitor, a coward." Hastur said when the clock hit the designated time.  
“ZZZZILENCE" thundered the prince of darkness. "He is here."

In that precise moment Crowley, the tempting serpent, the one who had condemned all humanity to the cold and hunger, to pain and suffering. The demon who gave humanity the faculty to distinguish the difference between good and evil came out of the shadow.  
  
"What's up, guys?" Intoned in a playful tone walking in front of them, with his hands in his pockets and dark glasses over his eyes, trying to walk elegantly.

"Demon Crawly." Beelzebub approached the centre of the small clearing. On his right Hastur and to his left Dagon.

Above them, only the moon and a few stars remained as witnesses of what was to come.

"It’s Crowley," the demon muttered. He wasn’t surprised when none corrected themselves.

"You are accused by the high council of the darkness of treason and desertion. How do you proclaim yourself?" The prince asked in a vaguely bored voice.

"Ah, I should probably say guilty."

"Very well." The prince agreed. "Your punishment should be six thousand years of torture, one day for every one spent on earth and finally, death." Crowley shrugged. The demons smugly laughed, the Lord of the Flies raised a hand, a sign to wait for the end of the sentence.

"However, we are in times of war*" he added, vaguely contrite to the idea of not seeing Crowley hanging on a wheel or burning in a bottomless pit of Hell. "Satan, our King, Lord and master, do not forget all the remarkable acts of wickedness that you have performed in his name and therefore gives you a discount of punishment: A quick death."

Crowley nodded, turned his head for a moment to look at where he had come from. A little nod to the trees at his back.

Then he looked back at Beelzebub. "I'm ready."

In an instant, the two demons who were a second before at the prince of darkness' sides, materialised next to him, forcing him to kneel.

"All in all, I'm sorry." The Lord of the Flies said taking a black metal’s sword. "You've been a great Demon, Crawly"**

Without even having time to correct him, the blade pierced him from side to side, straight to the chest.

Even before he could fall forward or backwards, the three demons had disappeared and Crowley had been left alone in St. James Park.

Aziraphale hated himself. He had promised Crowley, in the bookshop, that he wouldn’t go with him, he wouldn’t follow him. But he had seemed so scared, and the mild idea of leaving him at such a state killed him. So, he followed secretly.  
He was sure he hadn't noticed, but as the four demons spoke, Crowley had turned his head and looked him straight in the eye. His gaze clearly said: _For the love of Go- Sat- Someone, don't get close, don't do it._

Aziraphale remained motionless, the demons too focused on Crowley to be able to notice him.  
Then, faster than a comet that pierces the sky, the demons had taken Crowley, and before his body could even touch the ground, they were already gone.  
He had run, those few steps had seemed like ten miles, his feet heavy as his heart.  
He knelt beside him and turned his feeble body like a doll, his glasses slipped to the floor, and his golden eyes reflected the few stars above them.  
It was frightening.

"Angel" muttered Crowley before he was interrupted by a cough. He fell silent for a moment as he choked on his own blood.

"I know I know," Aziraphale answered, taking him in his arms. "you're a stupid old serpent, and I'm just a stupid old man for not intervening." He added, moving his dark hair from his eyes.

"Angel" He repeated in a choked voice. “There’s…There’s…”

"No, shh" The angel interrupted him, rocking him. "Do not talk."

 _It's pivotal_ , tried to argue, Crowley. The pain was too high, he felt the blood boiling in his guts and go up the oesophagus.

"Listen..." he muttered again, feeling increasingly more dizzy and sleepy. Aziraphale took off his coat and tried in every way to stop the blood. It was utterly useless, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop trying.

"You can't leave me alone, I don't want to spend eternity without you." cried.

But Crowley was notoriously a stubborn guy and continued ignoring him. "There is this mountain of diamonds at the end of the universe ..." he said trying to force himself. But he didn’t remember the story, he didn’t remember why that stupid little bird went every time on that bloody mountain.

"Crowley ..." the angel whined, squeezing him more tightly against his chest.

“E-every thousand years ... every thousand years ..." Crowley breathed with difficulty, his lips cyanotic and his body colder.

 _It hurts, it hurts so much,_ he complained in his head. "The little bird ... flies there and tr-trims its beak." He continued stubbornly.

"Enough, just please, please don't leave me." Aziraphale felt that this time the tears would win and he began to cry. His whole body was shaking, he wouldn't let him go, he was terrified by the solo idea of losing him.

"When ... when he has consumed the mountain… a second of eterni-ty will have passed" finally ended Crowley and finally felt that this time he could finally rest.

"It's a beautiful story, Crowley," replied Aziraphale.***

Tears flowed from her eyes like rivers and dripped onto Crowley's face, now too pale and too cold and covered in blood.  
"Are you crying for me, Angel?"  
Aziraphale moaned holding him close.

“It’s fine, that's o-okay" Crowley continued looking at the moon. He could have said anything. Perhaps this was the right time to tell Aziraphale how much loved him, how happy Crowley was to have known him. How secure he felt in that moment, surrounded by his angel's arms.  
How, since the very beginning, he had searched something, missed something, and the only moment that he felt that he was truly complete was when he was next to him.  
He wasn’t afraid. He couldn’t be frightened when his friend was hugging him.

"Azira- Zira I lov-u“

Aziraphale winced, more a big hiccup than anything else.  
When Crowley's lips were only a millimetre from his, when they had only brushed, his gaze had suddenly become glassy. The body was too feeble, too still, too silent.  
Aziraphale looked at the body of what had once been his enemy, his best friend, the person closest to him, his cherished love.  
_Too bad_ , he told himself, _I never been able to say to him._

_* It is agreed that there would be no time nor staff for such a lengthy punishment._

_** This is because no one in Hell had yet understood that none of the "diabolical acts" for which he had received accommodations and praises had been his work. Crowley had only tempted Eve to eat the apple and even then it had been little more suggestion than a tempting. All the rest had been all work of the Humans, it was not necessary, though, to worsen the situation and confess all the sins that he had not committed._

_*** Actually, he didn't know why that story was so important. No one knew it. Not even Crowley to tell the truth. But he felt Aziraphale needed to know it, perhaps it was ineffable, he didn't know._

〄

The world is grey and empty without Crowley.  
Aziraphale watches it burns.  
There is no reason to save it if he no longer has the person he loves next to enjoy the fruits.

〄

As the angel had foreseen, Heaven won the battle.  
As the demon had said, eternity is great pain in the arse.  
After the victory, Aziraphale was recalled to Heaven. Not that he had anything else to do on Earth now that all human had died and the planet had become a giant ball of fire.  
All the angels bathed themselves in the divine aura, singing the praises of victory.  
Aziraphale doesn’t sing along with them. He retires in private and cries for the loss of his best friend. 

〄

The problem that everyone doesn't seem to dwell on is that Angels and Demons don’t have, in fact, an eternal memory. There are many things he remembered Aziraphale. He remembered all the most important events he had lived in broad terms, the amusing adventures, the sad ones that had made his heart bleed, the discussions with Crowley that had angered him. The dinners around a table while laughing and some jokes. But the old memory had started to fade, and he didn’t remember everything.

Mostly he remembered Crowley.  
  
Crowley in his black vest, long hair adorned with braids, the expression disgusted while protesting _“Not the kids!”  
  
_Crowley and his golden eyes, her female body shape, a black veil covering his head as they look at the crucifixion. The gaze darkened while a young boy suffers to redeem all the sinners of the Earth.

Crowley with an amused grin as Aziraphale stutters something about oysters.

Crowley laughs, always a little too relaxed.

Crowley cries, clutching a dying child for the plague to his chest.

Crowley who saves him from the guillotine.

Crowley asking for holy water.

Crowley asking to run away with him.

Crowley smiling as they toast to the idea of a new world all for themselves.

Crowley approaching him, his lips brushing, as he tries to declare his love but suffocates in his own blood.

Crowley dying.

After ten thousand years, he had forgotten what was like to live on Earth. He no longer remembered the pleasure of a good book, sweets and foods, the heady taste of wine.  
The warm and fragrant air.  
People, always so noisy, curious, ingenious.  
Without a mirror, you could forget your own face.  
He had forgotten everything, except other only beings who was always beside him. And it is a continuous pain, that kind of chronic malaise that never gets quiet.  
A never-ending: _Crowley, Crowley, Crowley._

After twenty-five thousand years, he had begun to forget his voice.  
As hard as he tried, he didn’t remember his tone, that particular inflexion of his voice, the constant hiss hidden in his words that he had never really been able to conceal.  
The soft tone in which he pronounced his name or the word _Angel.  
_There was only one face now, and Aziraphale clung to that image, too afraid to let it go.

After a hundred thousand years, he had forgotten his name. There was always this presence next to him.  
It had been constant in his time spent on Earth.  
Like when you see your old classmate for the first time in years. By now, you're old, school times are over and forgotten, and suddenly you see them walking in the middle of the street.  
You loved them deeply, spent funny and sad moments together, you couldn't imagine your life without them, but for some reason now you don't remember their name.

After three hundred thousand years, he no longer remembers his face.  
There was someone or something next to him, always close but no longer remembered who he was.  
He had loved him immensely, desperately, but now he couldn't even remember why.  
The angel didn't cry when he realised he had lost something of the utmost importance.*  
It's like when you feel like you've forgotten something. You know it was important, you're worried about it, but you still don't remember why it was so utterly necessary to retain. In the end, you only have a great feeling of inadequacy, because you should know, but you don't.  
If you've forgotten, you fooling yourself, maybe it wasn't that important.

Remembering pain is easy. Leave signs in the soul and for an ethereal being like him is the only thing that matters. But remembering happiness and love is complicated. The feeling remains, of course, he is an angel, a being made of love, is what defying him. Remembering those you loved, when you are surrounded by the love of God requires an immense effort, and he no longer feels so strong.  
He feels weak and fragile, small, exhausted, bone-tired, so he kneels down and prays to be freed from that pain.**

The concept of time, shortly afterwards, ceases to have meaning.  
After a thousand billion years, or so it seems, he forgot that he was loved by someone on Earth or that he was loved in general if not by God.

_* This is because he didn't know why it was so important, of course._

_** It didn't happen though._

〄

Heaven is a boring place.  
The other angels seem not to notice, but it's yawnsome and colourless. It's all white, all so ethereal.  
They have nothing to do now that the Earth no longer exists,* so everyone is on their toes without a real reason, pretending to be busy.  
Someone sing and play. But are mostly celestial harmonies ** and frankly, they are as unnerving as dull.

"What a bore.” He complained. "There is never anything to do.”  
He looked out of the Great Wall of Heaven to find nothing.  
He didn't know why every time he expected to see something. There had never been anything down there.  
Behind him, another angel looked at him, vaguely worried. "Good morning, I am Raphael. Can I ask what the problem is, my dear?"  
Raphael had long flaming hair decorated with golden flakes like his eyes. Thin face, high cheekbones and a sweet smile. Deep gold eyes, bright as stars. Aziraphale would have felt a sharp twinge of nostalgia if only he had deigned to look at him.

But he kept his eyes stubbornly on the void because he was trying to understand something and his eyes were a bit wet.  
For some reasons, he thought that he should be ashamed of that.  
"It's so boring up here ... although I don't know why I'm saying _up here_. Isn’t like there’s something down there or elsewhere. The point is, anyway, nothing ever changes, always the usual songs, always the same white walls. How long will all this last?"  
The angel looked at him, vaguely surprised.  
"You know, God just told me a story." He sat next to him, on the wall that divides Heaven from nothing.  
“There was once a King who asked a shepherd boy: _How many seconds of time are there in eternity?”_ He said.  
Aziraphale listened.

“Then the shepherd boy said: _There is a mountain of pure diamond at the end of the Universe, which is two miles and a half high, two miles and a half wide, and two miles and a half in depth; every hundred years a little bird comes and sharpens its beak on it—”_

 _  
_ That story seemed strangely familiar. "Every thousand years, always the same bird?" asked.

He didn’t know why it seemed so absurd. He didn't know what a bird is, nor how long it is a thousand years. But he imagined that a bird was something like a little thing and thousand years was a very long time, so the words came out of his mouth as if they were the most natural thing to ask.  
"Yes."

"It looks like a very old bird."  
"Probably ...?" The other angel answered with a giggle as if he couldn't fully follow. He didn’t blame him, he felt as confused as he was.  
“Er ... Anyway…” continues the Angel " _When the whole mountain is worn away by this, then the first second of eternity will be over._ ”  
The angel, full of doubts, thanked him for the words of comfort and watched him leave. He only could see the long red hair lulling against his back, the slim figure, the flaming sword in his hand, the way he was walking…

 _(A chuckles:  
_ _Well, that went down like a lead balloon.)_

The words haven't comforted him. They had saddened him. That strange feeling of loss was back, and tears began to slide down his face. He doesn't know what they were. He never cried in his life, and he felt a great weight in his heart.  
The angel was gone, and a voice that didn’t recognise talked in his head.

_(That's just the start of what you'll lose if you win.)_

He focused on the story even though he didn't fully understand the meaning.

_* Not that anyone would remember it, anyway.  
_ _** This term always amused him, without knowing why._

〄

After a long time, or a little later, God decided it was time to roll up his sleeves and set up a new construction site.  
Early in the morning he first created the sky and Earth.  
All the angels were enchanted and amazed by that wonder. Everything was beautiful, and all of them worked to help their lord in creation.  
Even he helped to create stars.  
But the thing he loved most of all were the plants and flowers that had grown on Earth, he could've spent all eternity watching the blossoming flowers, the green leaves bathing in the sunlight and water.  
"We should create a garden." He proposed.  
God liked the idea and so he created the Garden.  
He stood there, as a gardener, observing and taking care of the plants and for the first time in a long time, he finally felt at peace.

〄

For a long time, he forgot that old feeling.  
In the garden, everything was green, calm and tranquil and his soul seemed to finally calm down.  
After a long time, even that old sensation was forgotten and he felt, for some reason, a new angel.

〄

Everything happened at that particular moment that remains poised between day and evening.  
The stars and the planets, the sun and the earth, had now been created and he was delighted with their beauty.  
At that moment only a few stars had sprung up, just after sunset, the sky was an intense and indefinite blue, the same colour in the middle of a flame.  
While he was looking up at the sky, something to his left called his attention; he saw, with the corner of his eye, a yellow dot that caught him by surprise.  
On a twig small flowers had grown, star-shaped*, stringy and yellow like the burning sun, like the stars in the sky, like the desert, like the eyes of...

_(It’s a big universe. Even if this all ends in a puddle of goo, we can go off together.)_

He cried for a long, long time.  
When the other angels found him, worried about the disappearance of their brother, they were surprised by those tears and that desperate expression. None of them knew what to do, the sadness, the pain hadn’t yet been invented and none of them knew how to behave in those situations. On the other hand, like pain, not even compassion had been invented yet.**

They accompanied him again up to Heaven, naively convincing themselves that their dear brother had simply been away from the light of God and his companions for too long and another angel had been placed to watch the Garden.  
This time, in order to avoid other incidents like that, he was instructed to remain on the walls and to don’t enter inside except in cases of extreme necessity.

_* He discovered, after a long time, that the plant was called Bulbine Frutescens, better known as Snake’s Flower. Even today, that particular plant makes him incredibly melancholy._

_** Not because angels were bed or anything else, but there weren't need of compassion yet. If only it had been invented earlier perhaps many problems would have been solved faster._

〄

Eternity had been incredibly long, tedious and peaceful at the same time.  
Nothing had happened so far, apart from the creation of heaven and Earth, of course, but then time seemed to accelerate and many things happened one after the other, like in a domino’s effect.  
Time hadn’t been invented yet but everithing seemed to move already too fast.  
The angel remained on the edge of the walls of Heaven, looking from afar at his beloved Garden and the yellow flowers and sighing.

〄

Everyone had looked with interest at the creation of the first man and the first woman and for a long time, the angels enjoyed philosophising about the implications of this new creation.  
Many had happily accepted their Father's orders and had done their utmost to serve humans who, truth to be told, rarely asked for anything, they had been placed in the centre of the Garden and there was nothing they wanted but what they already had.  
Others, however, seemed vaguely discontented.

 _Venus, Lucifer, Helel, the morning star, the most beautiful among the Seraphim and God's favourite angel_ began to ask why all the angels, clearly superior to men, should've bow to these beings who barely knew how to stand upright on their legs.  
The question pierced Heaven and divided all the angels.

Shortly, before the situation degenerated, the angel on the edge of Heaven had become an _imperiturus_ figure, still and immobile, utterly indifferent to what was happening around him, too focused on studying the yellow flowers that could be seen from there.  
There was this strange feeling, something that had already happened, a sort of of déjà-vu.  
They weren't real memories, of course, he never had any memories.

No.

There were only these images whenever he closed his eyes, this vague memory of something red, something yellow, a vaguely hissing noise, a voice, a joke, a way of laughing.  
"Do you feel it too, right brother?" He asked a sweet and persuasive, beautiful voice.  
The most beautiful angel of Heaven looked at him from the bottom of the walls, white and shining, a sword clutched in his hand and his eyes full  
of fervent passion.  
"This thing, at the bottom of your heart, this voice that tells you that there is something wrong." Continue Lucifer without expecting an answer.  
The angel turned, looked at him intently, for the first time he took his eyes from the flowers and listened to him.

"What's this?" He asked, hoping for an answer. It was, moreover, the first time that someone addressed the subject.  
“Oh…” said surprised him. “I do not know." He replies and for the first time he seemed to be taken aback.

 _Dammit_ , he thought, _Nobody ever knows anything._

"They took something away from us," Lucifer said confidently. "something precious that was just ourself.”

 _Is that how you feel?_ A voice asked in his head _._ Sweet but sardonic, he could imagine a sneer amused among those words. A feeling of pure dissatisfaction and sadness. _Do you miss him?  
_ _But who is him that you miss so much?  
_ _Who?_

"Join us brother." The Seraph prayed to him. "Come with us, take back what is ours."

The voice behind his head said:  
_Listen angel, now you are faced with a choice: Go with this Lucifer prick, follow him and see how will go or live your whole life asking yourself what it is... this._ _You don't know what will happen, you can't know it, but you have to make a choice.  
_ _It's an Aut Aut, a leap in the dark, nobody knows what's right at this moment._

"I don't despise men." The angel answered after what seemed a century. "They have never harmed anyone, they are innocent. It certainly isn't their fault for being created."  
"But in truth, you also feel that there is something wrong"

_(But we can run away together. Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody would even notice us.)_

He replied: "Yes."

〄

"Father." called the angel. "Father, I don't understand and I don't comprehend. Everything in this world you created for us is so beautiful. You allowed me to create flowers and plants, The Garden in which humans walk. The stars they admire at night. So why I feel like this? What is this feeling, at the bottom of my heart, of falling without stopping... should I live my whole life like this, Father? Get used to the feeling? But how much time has already passed? Why am I suffering and despairing about something that I feel so close but at the same time so distant, why I cry for something I don't remember?”

In the end, discovered the angel, the timing is damn important and it is better to not ask questions when all your brothers and sisters are falling and their wings are burning and you are in the middle of the battlefield.*  
Nothing burns and falls faster than a stupid angel who hasn’t been able to grasp the atmosphere, and nothing is more painful.

_* He never learned the lesson, by the way._

〄

In Hell, when it was just created as well as the pain, the sense of loss, the grief and tears, the demon Zirah * listened to the rants of what had once been _Venus, Lucifer, Helel, the morning star, the most beautiful among the Seraphim and God's favorite angel_ , but who now was only _Satan, the great adversary, King of the deepest pit and devourer of worlds._

"Here at least we shall be free;  
The Almighty hath not built  
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence:  
Here we may reign secure, and in my choice  
to reign is worth ambition though in Hell"  
Satan is no longer the morning star, he isn't the most beautiful angel, his skin burned in the fall, the wings are black and encrusted, the voice hides pain and fear but, despite this, he speaks with a firm and authoritative voice.  
"Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven." Lucifer said, the only angel standing in the pit, surrounded by his brothers who were suffering on their knees.

The voice in Zirah's head laughs, _What a Prick!_ he snarls, mocking the Seraph for his arrogance.  
  
Crying and screaming, for once, seemed the wisest choice and wasn’t ashamed of it anymore.  
The demons around him were doing the same thing anyway.

_* Zirah, who in Hebrew means arena or circle did not know why he had chosen this name. He didn't know if it was enough "himself" but there was something that always came back the same as before, like an old memory, which came and went away in a constant and perpetual flow and said he would never be a coward again. Yes, he would cling to that feeling._

〄

"Zirah" called Beelzebub, the only other Seraph who fell with Satan "Our King has a mission for you."  
Zirah followed him but he didn't look at him. He was too focused on watching the flames of Hell, that dark red and that yellow string of fire. Yellow like the flowers in the garden.  
"Demon Zirah" Satan's voice brought him back to reality and he looked away from the flames. He wondered, vaguely, how it was possible that the monstrous body of the King of Hell could keep that voice soft and sweet, even in similar conditions.

“Climb up from Hell. Go to the Garden, get up there. Make some trouble, let them understand that even if we have fallen, it doesn’t mean that there will be no repercussions"  
"I don't despise humans." It reminded him, Zirah.  
"I didn't say to kill them." Satan answered in a calm and amused voice. “Tempt them, bring them to do some cowardice, remind the Almighty and all the angels that they aren’t better than us."  
Zirah went up Hell, not because he wanted to harm humans* but because he couldn't stand being in the mud and surrounded by the stench of sulphur, he couldn't stand the red and orange that haunted him any more, the pain in his heart strongest than ever.

So he chose a shape, a small animal told himself, not to be noticed.  
And without really thinking his body fell to the ground and melted into the coils of a night-like black snake with little red and yellow scales on the belly and blue sky eyes, to remember himself all the things he had lost.

_* he had always been fond in them._

〄

Hell, as you can imagine, is a terrible place.  
When the serpent came out of the ground to find himself in the Garden, the first thing that caught him off guard was the light.  
In Hell, the yellow and red flames were never bright enough and created long terrifying shadows. All the angels, demons now, had to get used to the new darkness.  
_Adapt or die_ had thought Zirah, looking at the eyes of his companions becoming dark and deep black pits as if to reflect the darkness of their souls. It was strangely cold down there, sad and grey.

Now instead, the sun and the sky were so bright and warm that he wanted to stay there forever, enveloped in himselves in the grass.  
Since a long time, he felt calm and at peace, his heart no longer hurt so much and that sense of nostalgia and loss had slowly faded.  
He wondered what would have happened if he had remained in the garden forever, watching men bathing in the divine light that had been torn away from him, to enjoy the fruits, the sun and the soft grass instead of tempting men.

Eve, beautiful as a goddess, so fragile, she looked at Adam with dreamy eyes, full of love. One day he approached her and asked, in a hissing voice, _Why do you look at the man like that?  
_The first woman answered "I don't know, silly creature” and laughed because she didn't know anything about the world.

"But you know," she replied, not at all surprised by the talking snake because at that time nature hadn’t turned against men yet and the bond with it was much stronger. "When Adam rests deeply, when he is on the other side of the garden and I don’t see him, I have the feeling of having lost something. As if it weren't all right, as I wasn’t truly complete and it hurts. When Adam is with me and kisses me, I can see in his eyes that everything could disappear, we could be left with nothing and I would still feel full"*

The snake cried that evening, cried for every day of eternity he had lived, cried again and again because he finally understood what that pain was that had shaken him for all that time, that melancholy and nostalgia that had gripped him since he had memory.  
The serpent had loved someone and loved him more than God himself and now, that someone was no longer with him.  
He hadn't been for a long time.

The serpent looked at the Tree of Knowledge with its bright, red, apples and wondered again, _Why should it be forbidden to know the difference between good and evil?  
_ _It's not fair_ , he finally decided, _because she doesn't know what this feeling is. She doesn't know that she loves the man even more than God, that is a love that consumes you deeply if you don’t have the person you love beside you. The woman deserves to know, deserves to make her choices, deserves to understand what the world is. How cruel, bitter, sad but also how full is of beauty, love and passion is._

So he went back to the woman and whispered: "Eat the apple."

_*Eve had spoken this way because it is human nature to love sincerely even without being able to name the feeling.  
_ _When she had been cast out from the Garden and had to walk through the bare earth suffering from the cold, the heat, the pain, when they both became very old she asked Adam: "Would you have eaten the apple, if you had known what would have happened?" And he replied, elderly and with eyes full of fatigue and love for her: "When I am next to you I feel I don't need anything, not even the Garden. I would prefer to walk through this Earth with a basket of stones on my back that gets heavier with every step, rather than pass a single second away from you."_

〄

It starts, as it ended, with a garden.

It was a nice day.  
All the days had been nice.  
There had been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hadn't been invented yet. But the storm clouds gathering east of Eden suggested that the first thunderstorm was on its way.  
And it was going to be a big one.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”

The angel of the East Gate covered his head with his wings to protect himself from the first drops.  
He had always been there, with his back straight and his gaze fixed on the horizon. The angel had a long white and immaculate tunic like the wings spread behind his back. His flaming red curls gently fell over his shoulders and his amber eyes, like two ripe hawthorn fruits, scrutinised the advance of the storm.

"Sorry," said the angel politely. "What was it you were saying?”  
“ _I said,_ that went down like a lead balloon.” the serpent replied with a sardonic smile.  
"Yes, yes, it did, rather." said the angel, whose name was Raphael.

"Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me. First offence and everything. I can't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.” Continued the demon, that now was human-shaped again, apart for the black wings, while he ran a hand through his blond-white hair combing them a little.  
  
"Well, it must be bad," Raphael said, with the slightly troubled tone of someone who doesn’t see the point either, and worries about it. “otherwise you wouldn't have tempted them into it.” He looked at the demon in the eyes, they were light blue, with only a vertical line as pupil, snake eyes that was looking at him with a slight smile.

"Oh, they just said, _Get up there and make some trouble_." Answered the serpent, whose name was Zirah, although he intended to change its name. Zirah, he had decided, no longer suited him.  
  
“Well, obviously… you are a demon. I am not sure you can do good," said Raphael. "It's your... how to say... nature. Nothing personal, of course."  
  
"You've got to admit it's a bit of a pantomime, though," said Zirah. "I mean, pointing out the Tree and saying 'Don't Touch' in big letters. Not very subtle, is it? I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain or a long way off? Makes you wonder what He's really planning."  
  
"Best not to speculate, really," said Raphael. "You can't second-guess ineffability, I always say. There's Right, and there's Wrong. If you do Wrong when you're told to do Right, you deserve to be punished. Er..."  
  
They sat in embarrassed silence, watching the raindrops bruise the first flowers. Eventually Zirah said, "Didn't you have a flaming sword?"  
  
"Er," said the angel. A guilty expression passed across his face, and then came back and camped there.

"You did, didn't you?" Zirah said. "It was flaming like anything."  
"Er, well ..."  
"It looked very impressive, I thought."

"Yes, but, well..."  
"What happened to it?” Asked amused. “Uh… Lost it already, have you?"  
"Oh, no! No, not really lost—Gave it away..." Murmured.  
“What?” he asked because, maybe, he didn’t hear correctly.  
"If you want to know," said Raphael, looking vaguely desolate, "I gave it away.”  
Zirah stared at him, astonishment hit him like a lightning _“You what?!”_

"Well, _I had to_ ,” said the angel, rubbing his hands absently. “They looked so cold, poor things, and she's expecting already, and what with the vicious animals out there and the storm coming up I thought, well, where's the harm, so I just said, look, if you come back there's going to be an almighty row, but you might be needing this sword, so here it is, don't bother to thank me, just do everyone a big favor and don't let the sun go down on you here _._ "

He turned to Zirah with a worried grimace. "I do hope I didn't do the wrong thing."  
"Oh, you’re an angel, I don't think you can do the wrong thing.” Zirah replied.  
Raphael, that didn't notice the sarcasm, said: "Oh, oh, thank. Oh, thank you- It's been bothering me all afternoon…”

For a while, they stared at the rain.

"I've been worrying, too." said Zirah, "What if I did the right thing with the whole _Eat the Apple_ business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing."  
He turned to wink at the angel. “It'd be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one, eh?"

Raphael started to chuckles with him, but then stopped immediately, his eyes widening, realizing the implications of what the demon had just said.  
“No!” He screeches, “It wouldn't be funny at all!” said.  
Zirah looked at the rain. "No," he said more seriously. “Maybe not."

A pitch-black blanket faced the garden. The thunder grumbled in the hills. The animals, newly baptised, sought shelter from the storm. In the distance, among the rain-soaked trees of the forest, a kind of burning flame trembled. Raphael  
It would have been a dark and stormy night.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so everything ok?  
> I hope that there weren't too many mistakes (If not, I'm living a dream, my fellows)
> 
> After wasting an afternoon discussing whit my friends about the "Crowley totally knew Aziraphale before he fell", "Ok, but how the fuck Aziraphale knew America, Australia etc during the Ark scene" and "what if Crowley was Raphael?" while we should've studied Nietzsche.
> 
> Basically: my theory is that the Good Omens's Universe moves in an eternal recurrence (Yes, i had studied at the end ahah), they start at the beginning and end with the real apocalypse (Not the one that Crowley and Aziraphale avoids of couse) every time they change their role 'cause the one that remains in Heaven can't really forget the other so... he falls.  
> This is why Crowley seems to already know things like: English slang, he seems to know that, in the beginning, he did the right thing and Aziraphale did the bad one and he always knows where Aziraphale is and he knows when he is in danger.  
> He doesn't remember everything, of course, he just has this sensation and follows his instinct.  
> (Yes, this means he remembers only Aziraphale)  
> The Implication that Crowley is Raphael is less strong to be totally honest...i needed a Name for Crowley as an Angel, and the theory was pretty good, but my Raphael is a cherubic and not an Archangel cause I like the idea that Crowley and Aziraphale are two beings without any importance but they still start everything every time.
> 
> (Yes, The implications of which, if only Aziraphale had looked into the eyes of Raphael when he tells the story of the Shepherd's boy he would have remembered Crowley and they would stay in heaven as angels are strong but I'm a bitch for angst so...I'm not sorry.
> 
> PS: Comments won't only make me very happy but they will also bring you much luck.  
> (Yes, you can read this with a strong Italian accent *whink*)


End file.
